All That You'd See At 221B
by Lisa Smithers
Summary: A collection of one-shots I've written based on the everyday happenings in the flat. Humor/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort, and almost everything else.
1. Color

All was quiet in the flat, for what John was pretty sure the first time ever.

Sherlock was reading, and John was just sitting, sipping at a cuppa.

The silence was mind numbing, and he was surprised to find that he didn't like it.

Desperate for something to happen, he tried to think of topics to discuss with Sherlock. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of any that wouldn't bore Sherlock, so he just said the first thing that popped into his mind.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock glanced up from his book momentarily, in a way that much reminded John of a cat that had been napping.

"Yes, John?"

"What's your favorite color?"

"My favorite... color?" Sherlock said, looking at John as though he were the strangest person on the planet.

"Yes." John said.

"I guess that would have to be a dark purple." Sherlock said. "Why did you want to know?"

"Just curious." John said. "You'd never told me before. Mine's orange. Why do you like purple?"

"It's a color associated with knowledge and power. It's one of the more complex colors, being a secondary instead of primary, but it's not overly so, in that it's not tertiary." Sherlock said. "A long time ago, only royalty would wear it, because cloth of that color was difficult to dye. Why do you like orange?"

John blinked. His mind blanked. He really had no reason other than he just liked it, but he couldn't tell Sherlock that.

"Well, um- The cones and rods in my eyes find orange more appealing in comparison to other colors." John blurted out.

Sherlock tried not to smile.

"So basically, you think it's _pretty_?" Sherlock said.

John nodded.

"Yup."

* * *

 **A/N: And here, is the first of many delightful one-shots featuring life at 221b. Hope you enjoyed it!**


	2. Sherlock Does Not Like Broccoli

"You promised me that if you didn't solve the case in three more days, then you would eat." John said. "Now guess what. It's been three days."

"But John-" Sherlock protested, but John didn't give him the time.

"You will eat what I give you, in fact, you will clean your plate." John said.

John set the plate down in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at it, then wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Is that _broccoli_?"

"Yes Sherlock, it is, and there is nothing you can do about it."

"Except not eat it." Sherlock said, looking up at John.

"You will."

"I won't."

"You will."

"I won't."

"You- For goodness' sake, Sherlock! This is ridiculous!"

"I don't like broccoli." Sherlock said.

"You don't like food in general, Sherlock." John said. "Sorry if I'm not all that empathetic. You will eat it, all of it, or I'll tell Lestrade that you won't be taking cases."

"But they're disgusting John!" Sherlock said. "How can you expect me to consume baby trees?!"

"They're not actually baby trees, Sherlock, you of all people should know that!"

"Doesn't mean they don't look like them." Sherlock muttered.

John walked away, throwing his hands up in the air exasperatedly.

"I share a flat with a three year old."

"Not liking broccoli actually has to do with genetics." Sherlock called from the kitchen. "People who like it are considered 'bitter-blind'. My taste buds just happen to be more sensitive to bitterness than yours. There is a scientific reason for it, John."

John groaned and walked back into the kitchen, digging into their cabinets. In the back he found one tin of carrots that he had forgot they had.

John held the tin up.

"If I swap it for this, will you eat?"

"Yes John."

* * *

 **A/N: So, Sherlock does not like broccoli apparently. Well, that's good I guess. More for me.**


	3. Sherlock Likes Olives

John had dropped by the flat to drop off groceries before heading off to work.

He had been gone an hour now, which was fine with Sherlock.

Until he realized that he was hungry.

There was a reason for the phenomenon, considering the fact he hadn't eaten in almost five days.

He thought about texting John, but eventually decided against it, knowing that John was probably busy.

Sherlock would have to fend for himself.

There was bound to be food in the flat, because John had just gone to Tesco.

Sherlock sauntered into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

Seeing nothing he fancied, he bounded over to the cabinets. He looked through each and every one before his eyes settled on something that made his stomach growl even louder.

Olives.

Sherlock plucked the large jar from the cabinet. The lid was still sealed, and came open with a satisfying _pop_.

Deciding to skip the fork, Sherlock walked back over to his chair and fished out an olive. He poked out the pimiento inside, and popped the sweet orange pepper into his mouth. He always liked eating the olive separately.

He did this to several of the olives, leaving himself with a small pile of green finger covers. He called them this, because to him, that's what they were. He slid one olive onto each of his fingers. After wiggling them around in the air for a moment, he pulled the olive on his pointer finger off and ate it. He did this to all the other fingers as well, then repeated the entire process.

Sherlock loved the sound the olives made as he sucked him off his finger and into his mouth, which is why he continued to do it to the entire jar.

* * *

"Sherlock?" John called from the kitchen. "Where are the olives?"

"I ate them." Sherlock said.

John glanced down at Sherlock, then did a double take.

"All of them?" John asked. "The entire jar?"

"Of course, John."

"That was 80 ounces of olives, Sherlock."

"So?"

"You don't eat, Sherlock."

"I eat olives." Sherlock said.

"So I see." John said. "Those were supposed to be for supper."

"I guess we need more then." Sherlock said, looking at the empty jar sitting next to him.

"I guess so." John sighed. "I'm going back to Tesco."

John grabbed his coat and was about to walk out the door, when Sherlock spoke to him.

"Get an extra jar!"

* * *

 **A/N: I guess Sherlock really, really, really likes olives. I bet John wishes he would have known that a long time ago. Then it wouldn't have been so hard for him to get Sherlock to eat.**


	4. Sit, John

Sherlock had been playing his violin for hours now, just staring out the window as his fingers wandered the strings.

John was accordingly surprised when Sherlock turned around abruptly, mid song. He pointed at John with his bow, then pointed to one end of the couch.

"Sit." He said.

"Why?" John asked.

"I said, 'sit', John." Sherlock repeated.

"I'm not a dog, you know." John muttered, as he grudgingly did as Sherlock asked.

Sherlock proceeded to put his violin and bow back into their case, then plopped himself down beside John.

"So... What am I supposed to be doing, then?" John asked.

"Existing." Sherlock answered, looking straight forward at the wall in front of them.

"Right... That's it?"

"Yep."

"Why do I have to sit next to you to exist?" John asked.

"Because."

After a few minutes of just sitting, John picked up on what was going on.

"Sherlock?" John said.

"Yes John?"

"If you wanted attention, you could have just said so." John said.

"That's what I did, isn't it?"

* * *

 **A/N: Ah, and there we get a slightly lonely Sherlock. He just wanted some attention, but didn't want to admit it.**


	5. Sherlock's MP3 Playlist

Sherlock was off at the morgue running some blood samples on an experiment of his, and John sitting in the flat, updating his blog.

It got to be a little too quite for John's liking, so he went to find Sherlock's MP3 player. He knew it had some nice classical music on there, one song of which John very much enjoyed.

Sherlock had hooked it up to the computer a few times, letting the music flow throughout the house as he scurried from experiment to experiment.

John knew he should probably ask Sherlock's permission, but he wasn't here, and Sherlock borrowed things of his all the time.

John saw the MP3 player sitting on Sherlock's desk in his room, and snatched it. He turned it on as he walked back into the living room.

He scrolled through the play list, seeing the oh-so-familiar Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven. Then he saw something quite unexpected.

 _Speed of Sound - Coldplay_

Sherlock listened to rock?

Well that was unexpected.

John continued scrolling down to see a few more songs he recognized.

 _Viva La Vida - Coldplay_

 _Don't Panic - Coldplay_

 _Midnight - Coldplay_

 _Clocks - Coldplay_

Sherlock seemed to like the band Coldplay quite a lot.

There were some songs from other artists like Imagine Dragons, Snow Patrol, Pentatonix, OneRepublic, and A Day to Remember, among several others.

John pressed play on one that was called "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen. He had never heard of the song, and was curious about it.

He stared at the MP3 player after the song had finished. He could think of only one way to describe it.

Weird.

Very weird.

John found the song he was looking for, and hooked it up to the computer so he could make it louder.

He set about his blogging, and had finished about the same time as Sherlock walked in the door.

Sherlock did a double take when he saw John.

"Is that my MP3 player?" He asked.

John was relieved to see that he didn't seem angry about it.

"Yeah, you listen to rock?" John asked.

"Just because I play mainly classical doesn't mean I can't listen to other types of music, John." Sherlock said, smirking at John's surprise.

* * *

 **A/N: This is probably OOC for Sherlock, but I just thought a scene like this would be funny, and this seemed to be the perfect place to put it. Anyway, reviews!**


	6. Sherlock Holmes Irons

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked up from his book languidly.

"Hm?"

"Where's my good button up shirt?" John asked. "I can't find it."

"In my room." Sherlock answered. "Why?"

"I'm going on a date with Sar-" John cut himself off as he processed what Sherlock had said.

"Why is my shirt in your room?" John asked. "You better not have experimented on it."

"Don't be ridiculous, John." Sherlock said. "I was ironing and forgot to hang it back up."

"You were ironing?" John repeated.

"Yes, you don't think your shirts are just magically wrinkle-less, do you?"

"Well, sort of, actually, yeah." John said. "I thought Mrs. Hudson just had a good dryer or something."

"Hm." Sherlock looked back down to his book.

"So... you iron my shirts then?"

"Yes." Sherlock said passively.

"Why?"

"You always get the groceries, it's only fair I do my part." Sherlock said. "I have to iron my own shirts anyway, and you mainly wear jumpers, so adding your shirts doesn't really take much longer."

"Oh."

John walked into the kitchen, and put on some tea.

"Sherlock Holmes irons?" He muttered to himself.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, that purple shirt has to get so pristine somehow. Reviews!**


	7. Finger Painting

John unlocked the door to the flat and walked in.

It was strangely silent, and that was concerning when you lived with the consulting 5 year old (As John liked to call him.)

"Sherlock?"

"In here, John."

"Are you injured?" John took a step closer,

"No."

"Are you tied up?" John took another step.

"No."

"Is someone pointing a gun at your head?"

"No, John."

"Then why is it quiet?"

"Just because it's quite doesn't mean something is wrong, John." Sherlock said.

John walked into the kitchen.

"Actually it usually does- what are you doing?"

"I'm finger painting, John. What does it look like?"

"Why are you finger painting?" John asked.

"Because it's fun."

"Because it's fun..." John repeated.

"Yes, John." Sherlock pushed the chair out beside him with his foot. "Paint with me."

"Um... okay?"

"Go get a palette." Sherlock held his own up.

"You're holding a paper plate, Sherlock."

"Yes, John now go get your paper palette."

* * *

 **A/N: Alright, that was WAY OOC, but it was still hilarious. **


	8. Songs of the Mind, and Heart

**A/N: Mrs. Erik Massenet, this is for you.**

* * *

John Watson managed to get off work early after a particularly stressful day. He walked inside to hear music radiating throughout the flat.

 _Sherlock must have turned on the radio for once._

The song had just one voice, and no instrumental accompaniment, but even after only a few seconds of listening, John determined it was one of the most beautiful songs he had ever heard.

John wondered briefly where Sherlock was before he noticed the distinct sound of the shower running.

 _Listening to music while taking a shower? He's never done that before..._

As John passed by the corridor on his way to the kitchen, the music got louder.

 _Not coming from the radio then. Where? Does Sherlock have it pulled up on his phone?_

 _Wait, no, it couldn't have been._

 _I saw his phone sitting next to his scarf in the living room..._

 _This warrants further investigation._ John decided.

Though he would never admit it, John did enjoy pretending to be Sherlock and deducing things when ever he could.

He was fairly confident that by now, he was one of the best (non-genius) people at deducing. Living with Sherlock Holmes did insure you'd pick up the basics, but John always preferred to do better than expected, so he practiced.

 _The singer was male, deep voice._

 _There was no electronic means of getting the music into that bathroom._

 _Therefore, Sherlock must be singing._

John repeated that in his mind.

 _Sherlock must be singing._

It still sounded strange.

 _Sherlock sings?_

John heard the water turn off, and heard Sherlock getting dressed.

 _Sherlock sings? Sherlock sings well?_

No matter how many times he repeated it in his head, it still didn't sound right.

He didn't quite believe it, so he decided to wait and see.

He stationed himself outside of the door and just listened.

After a few minutes Sherlock opened the door, and came out.

Then he saw John.

He stopped singing.

"You're home early." He said.

"You sing."

"Yes..."

"You're really good."

"I suppose now is when I'm supposed to say thank you?" Sherlock said. He walked past John into the living room.

"I didn't know you could sing like that." John said.

"Hm."

* * *

 _John just heard me sing._

Sherlock hoped madly that he wasn't blushing. He'd never let anyone hear him sing before.

It was supposed to be an 'only while John is out' activity.

It was one of the many- _*cough cough*_ **few** , things he was self conscious about.

"I haven't heard you before." John said. "You've got a very nice voice. And uh- I don't think I recognized that song."

* * *

Sherlock mumbled something that John couldn't quite make out.

 _Why's he being so shy about this?_ John wondered.

"Could you repeat that?" John asked. "Without mumbling this time?"

Sherlock cleared his throat before speaking.

"I wrote it..."

"You _wrote_ it?" John asked, staring wide eyed. "Sherlock, that's amazing!"

Sherlock suddenly became very interested in studying the ground.

"Sing it again." John said. "Please? I want to hear the words better."

Sherlock nodded slightly, and took a deep breath before beginning.

 _"A light in the darkness_

 _But no way out_

 _I keep searching within_

 _But also without..._

 _I never knew_

 _How long it would take_

 _To find my place_

 _And set things straight_

 _But on I will go_

 _Until the journey ends_

 _Staying alone_

 _Avoiding all friends_

 _But life keeps changing_

 _Always rearranging_

 _Never staying the same, never staying the same..._

 _I'm not lost any longer_

 _With them I'm always stronger_

 _No more battles to conquer_

 _Alone."_

* * *

Sherlock felt himself shaking, but tried to hide it.

This was the most he had ever revealed of his mind, of his thoughts, of his _heart_.

"Sherlock,"

Sherlock glanced up at John.

"That was absolutely beautiful."

* * *

 **A/N: I loved writing this one. I've had the idea for a long time, but never got around to doing it until now, so it's been brewing for quite awhile. Just in case you're wondering, I wrote the song lyrics, just so you know I haven't taken them from anywhere without giving them credit. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it.**


	9. Sherlock has Nightmares

**A/N: Just so you know, this takes place before the fall. **

* * *

John Watson was proud of himself. And for good reason.

He had managed to convince Sherlock Holmes to lay down, at _night_ , to sleep until morning.

John lay in bed, reading one of those cheesy mystery novels Sherlock so hated.

Sherlock had been in bed over an hour now, and so he was probably now asleep.

 _I probably ought to follow his example if I want to keep up with him tomorrow..._

Sherlock with even more energy?

That would be terrifying.

John set his book down and turned off the lamp beside his bed off, before checking to make sure the alarm on his phone was set. The last thing he wanted to do was come to work late. The glowing screen stared back at him until he turned it off, setting it beside his bed.

He drifted off to sleep imagining a well rested Sherlock.

It could either be terrible (him bouncing off the walls even more than normal) or it could be wonderful (Sherlock less irritable and more focused than usual)

John was rooting for the latter, but guessing the first.

* * *

John woke up to the sound of a bed creaking.

 _Sherlock must be awake then._ John thought. _What time is it?_

Three in the morning.

Not time to wake up yet.

John was about to get up and tell Sherlock to go back to bed, when he noticed that the creaking continued.

 _Tossing and turning then? Why?_

John, unable to quench his curiosity, found himself getting up and out of bed, and walking down to check on him.

He tip toed down the hall and opened the door to Sherlock's room, to see his flat mate fast asleep on the bed.

But wasn't a peaceful sleep.

No.

On the contrary.

It was a fitful one.

Sherlock tossed and turned back and forth, muttering something.

Listening closely, John heard that Sherlock was calling his name.

"Sherlock?" John said uncertainly.

 _Is he starting to wake up?_

No, Sherlock was still fast asleep.

As John got closer, Sherlock's breaths started to get shallower, faster, and more frantic. Sherlock started clawing at his neck, and it was then that John noticed the sheet twisted up around it.

* * *

 _The fabric tightened around his neck, cutting off his air slowly, but surely. Soon he wouldn't be able to breath at all._

 _Tighter, tighter..._

 _Darkness laced his vision._

 _But John! What about John?!_

 _How would Sherlock warn him about the man in the house if he couldn't speak?!_

 _John might be hurt if he didn't, so how could he warn him?!_

 _It was these thoughts that made rounds in his mind, until the darkness gave place to nothing at all._

* * *

 _"_ Sherlock," John said. "Come on mate, you've got to wake up. It's just a dream."

John reached out to touch Sherlock, and just his fingers brushed his shoulder, Sherlock's eyes opened and he shot up into a sitting position, gasping for breath.

He quickly grabbed the sheet that had entangled him throughout the night, and threw it away from him, backing up away from it. There was a fear in his eyes, a chaos that was unfamiliar to John. He'd seen it before, but not often.

"Sherlock, relax, it was just a dream!" John said. "You need to slow your breathing down now, you're hyperventilating."

Sherlock, after taking several deep breaths spoke.

"I'm fine. I- I'm fine." He scooted away from John a bit.

"I didn't know you got them too." John commented.

Sherlock adjusted himself to sit in a bit straighter posture and cleared his throat, regaining some of the dignity he had lost in moments before.

"I don't usually." He said quietly.

"What made it different this time?" John asked.

 _Because before, I didn't have anything to lose._ Sherlock thought.

What came out his mouth was entirely different.

"Not sure, and doesn't really matter, now does it?" Sherlock said. "It'd probably be wise for you to return to bed, you have to go to the practice in the morning."

"Yeah, I guess so."

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you liked it!**


	10. John has Nightmares Too

Sherlock recognized the signs of a possible nightmare before John even went to bed.

John was a bit twitchy, a little jumpy. His limp was back, but only barely visible. John probably hadn't even noticed it.

As per usual, Sherlock waited awhile, about an hour or so, then picked up his violin, and started to softly play a lullaby.

For some reason, Sherlock's music couldn't prevent the nightmares before they started, but they could sooth them after John had been in them for awhile.

It couldn't stop the nightmares, but it could make them better.

* * *

 _Gunshots rang in the background, but all John could see was the soldier bleeding to death before his eyes._

 _"Stay with me." John mumbled as he worked to get the bullet out of the patient's chest._

 _He managed it, and the soldier screamed as he put pressure on the wound._

 _Even as John treated the man, he felt his pulse get weaker, and weaker, and weaker._

 _Then it stopped._

* * *

This was the point in which John would generally wake up from the nightmare, sweaty and scared. Instead, his dream just changed.

* * *

 _John was listening to an orchestra, watching as the musicians' bows graced their strings with exactly the right pressure to make the sound as full and whole as it could possibly be._

 _All the instruments played entirely different songs, but they all wove back and forth, over and under the other instruments, making one, awe inspiring symphony._

 _The song was filled with feeling and a subtle, but significant bittersweet meaning._

 _There were two melodies, it seemed, and they twisted around each other in a never ending spiral that sometimes even seemed to join together, then grow back apart._

* * *

Sherlock carefully placed his violin in its case, and smiled softly to himself.

The squeaking of the bed that he had heard before had stopped, and all was silent.

* * *

John woke up again in the morning, wondering why he had dreamt about going to hear an orchestra for what felt like the thousandth time.

He walked down into the living room where Sherlock sat in his chair.

"I had that dream again." John said. "The one about the orchestra."

"Did you?" Sherlock said.

To John, Sherlock looked more interested in the book in his hands.

But what John didn't see, was that behind the book, a hint of a smile made its way onto his face.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you liked it! Reviews please!**


	11. Undercover

"John, come here."

"Why?" John called back from the living room.

"I need to make sure your disguise is good enough."

Groaning, John got up for what felt like the 30th time in 10 minutes. John walked to the bathroom where Sherlock was standing in front of the mirror. John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he got closer.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"What does it look like?" Sherlock answered, staring very closely at an uncooperative piece of hair.

"You're... straightening your hair?"

Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement. "Let me see your disguise."

John walked farther into the room, and Sherlock turned around, the flat iron still in his hands. Sherlock inspected him, looking up and down, his eyes darting to every change that John had made that went against his usual appearance.

"Get rid of the jumper, put some other shirt on, and you're good." Sherlock decided.

"Why are you straightening your hair?" John asked.

"Because we're supposed to be disguising ourselves." Sherlock said. "My hair is naturally curly, so I'm straightening it. As to where I got the flat iron, from my disguise box. It's not my first time undercover, though it is quite obviously yours."

John's eyebrows wrinkled together.

"Don't act so insulted." Sherlock rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the straightening of his hair. "You did slightly better than the average idiot."

"So I'm an un-average idiot." John crossed his arms. "That's so much better."

"It is, isn't it?" Sherlock mumbled thoughtfully, as he pulled the iron down a particularly curly lock. "Being average... So boring."


End file.
